Meant to Be
by veiledndarkness
Summary: Some things were always meant to be, even if they fought it every step of the way and now, now they’ve come full circle. Warning: Slash


Title: Meant to Be

Author: veiledndarkness

Pairing: Bobby/Jack

Rating: R

Summary: Some things were always meant to be, even if they fought it every step of the way and now, now they've come full circle.

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit made and no harm intended.

For the prompt **Completion **at **fourbrothers100**

XX

He avoids the envelope when it arrives. It sits on his coffee table for three days before he gives it a cursory glance. There's no return address on it and when he looks at it, the hairs on the back of his neck prickle up. He doesn't want to open it, doesn't want to see what's inside, and he knows it's been too damn long since he's been home.

He drinks an ice cold beer while he stares at the envelope, sweat rolling like tears down his cheeks. His apartment is an inferno; July's summer heat beating down on the shitty unit like it's the gates of hell, awaiting his arrival.

Bobby pokes the envelope with two fingers, tracing his address, the one that's scrawled across in familiar writing. He can almost see the look of concentration, see the way **he** would have held the pen, like his fingers were itching to drop the writing utensil and strum guitar strings instead till they bled.

He wipes a drop of sweat away as it rolls down his cheek, narrowly missing the pristine white envelope in front of him. He rips the envelope open with a sigh, disgusted by his cowardice and the fact that it's taken him three days to even consider opening it.

His hands shake as he reads the letter, a breath caught in his throat. It's him all right, just as he knew it would be. And he reads the words, sees the request and his first thought is to turn him down flat. He hates that it's his first thought when there was a time that he wouldn't have ever even considered saying no to Jack.

Several minutes later, he grabs his cell phone and runs his thumb over the memory keys. The urge to call him and ask what he's thinking, ask him what he wants, after all this time, the urge is very strong. The letter is brief, there's no real detail, not like the details he wants, and that in itself puts Bobby's defenses up.

He closes the phone and holds his head in his hands. He'll go. He knew it from the first lines of the letter, knew he couldn't avoid going back forever. And for Jack, he'd do anything; he always has, even if things went bad over the years. He owes him this much.

XX

The bar is crowded, smoky and dark. Bobby feels at home there. He makes his way through the crush of bodies and orders a shot of whiskey to get him started. He downs it, licking his lips as it burns a path down his throat. The bartender offers another, he takes it without a second thought and it burns all the way. He closes his eyes and thinks of Jack and how fast his touch made Bobby burn.

He declines the third and presses onward, dodging the men and women that pass by him. Bobby breathes out, the nicotine is so very heavy in the air and he feels a strong craving for a cigarette. He hasn't smoked in years. He edges past a table of young girls, girls that he's sure aren't old enough to even be in this fine establishment. They smile and giggle, sipping fruity drinks with sugar crusted on the rim, their glossy lips shiny in the dim light.

He passes by them and thinks of high school, of the first girl he ever kissed. He wonders if she ever made it out of Detroit, if she followed her dreams like she swore she would. He lost touch with her when he dropped out, and every girl after never meant all that much to him. Not like **he** did.

Bobby finds a spot near the stage that lines one wall, a somewhat shabby red curtain covering part of it from his view. He leans against the pillar, arms crossed over his chest. He's impatient, eager to see him, eager to see if he's still the same, to see if two years has changed him.

Time crawls slowly until he sees the curtains part. His chest tightens and he inhales sharply. And then, in the darkness, a spotlight beams down, and it's him and Bobby feels the same rush of love, of desire and the urge to protect him, it all slams into him with a force he almost forgot.

Jack looks up, a guitar clutched in his arms. He smiles at the crowd, his eyes so blue under the spotlight. Bobby stands up straight, his palms damp, watching him, listening to him speak to the crowd, his voice a husky purr.

And he plays for them, plays for the audience. Bobby hears the sounds, hears the words but he's not listening, not at first. He stares, drinking Jack in. The hair, messy and Bobby knows damn well how long it would have taken to get the strands to look so perfectly messy, as if he'd just been fucked vigorously and rolled out of bed in time to be there for his gig. His body, lean and narrowed, muscled where it ought to be and Bobby licks his dry lips. Jack is perfection as far as he's concerned.

Jack seems to be searching the crowd near the end of the set, his eyes dimmed in the lights. He turns his head and sees Bobby. For one long moment, Jack looks lost, his arms rigid, as if he can't believe what he's seeing. Sweat gathers on Jack's face and he wipes it away. He hefts the guitar up more and sits on the wooden stool behind him.

He looks back out to the crowd, and this time, he's looking right at Bobby, his thumb moving over the guitar strings. He tells the audience that this song is his newest, and that he's pleased to share it all with them. And Bobby knows what Jack really means. He fights the shiver that wants to creep down his spine.

Jack leans forward and begins, strumming slowly. The guys behind him kick in moments later and Jack sings, his voice a mournful purr. Bobby listens, not because he wants to, but its Jack singing and he couldn't flee, though he's dying to.

Bobby shivers then, his skin crawling. He listens harder, hearing everything Jack left out of the letter, everything they never said to each other before he left. He blinks, lost in the memories, and fuck, does it ever hurt. He swallows, his throat working furiously. He knows and he sees the pain in Jack's face. He hates himself for leaving, for refusing to give Jack the one thing he ever truly wanted.

Bobby stares back at him defiantly. The words cut sharper than razors, tiny slits and scars that never fully heal. He pretends that he can't see the tears in Jack's eyes, can't see the tears that blend with the sweat on his face.

He clenches his jaw. A taste…a taste was never enough, not ever. The nights of stolen kisses in the dark, fumbled touches and the overpowering desire to have him, no, a taste was nothing more than a tease. Touching Jack was the closest he'd ever gotten to feeling completely calm and content.

Bobby exhales harshly. No one ever knew him like Jack, not Angel, not Jerry, not even Evelyn. And he misses him, God, he aches to rush up onto the stage and drag him off, stop the words, silence the hurt and beg for forgiveness.

He looks away then, breaking the connection between them. Jack waits a beat, dipping his head to the side. Bobby turns to leave. He can't do this, he can't listen a second longer, can't stand there and face the pain he's caused.

And as the song ends, and the crowd applauds Jack and his band, Bobby feels, can almost see the pain radiating from Jack, from himself even. He looks back to the stage, nodding to him. He's halfway across the bar floor when he hears his name shouted and feels the hand on his shoulder, stopping him from fleeing like he did before.

He licks his lower lip, the whiskey sour on his breath. "Jack," he whispers, staring at him.

XX

Jack brings him to a hotel room, his band members gone after Jack asks for a little privacy. They glare at Bobby as they file out, a warning very clear to him right then. He shuffles his feet a bit and looks out the window, the air conditioner puffing feebly into the room.

He feels the heat of the room go up a few notches when Jack closes and locks the door. Jack leans on the door, arms crossed over his chest. Bobby breathes in, sweat and cigarettes heavy in the air. He wonders idly if Jack's skin still smells like he remembers.

Jack shakes his head slowly and chuckles, a deep sound from his throat. "You came, you actually fucking came. I gotta say that I was really not expectin' that."

Bobby shrugs mutely, watching him light a cigarette. Jack inhales deeply on the stick, his eyes too bright and red rimmed like he's dying to have a good cry. "Why? Why'd you come then?"

"You asked me to," Bobby answers finally, his voice rough and there's a jagged quality to Jack's dry chuckle that makes him uneasy.

"Oh, I see. So it's that easy, huh?" Jack smokes furiously, puffs of smoke trailing above his head. "I coulda wrote two fucking years ago and you would've come back for me?"

Bobby glares at him. "Don't give me that shit."

"No? You needed to see what you did, is that it?" Jack stalks over to him, leaning in, the extra inches in his height more obvious. "You fucking break me and leave. Story of my life, ain't it?"

"Like you had no say? Like I forced you?" Bobby demands, his anger finally roused. "Aren't you the little bitch with his panties in a twist? You wanted me here, I came. To listen to you blame me for hurtin' you, is that it?"

Jack pushes at Bobby, shoving him against the wall. He stubs the cigarette out in the ashtray nearby and exhales, the plume of smoke blowing in his face. Bobby growls, the smoke is a tease and the cravings rise up hard.

"Bitch," Bobby spits at him. "The fuck do you want from me?"

Jack grips his shoulders, holding tight to him. "The truth," he whispers.

"About?"

"About me, about us," Jack rests his forehead to Bobby's, breathing hard. "I wanna hate you, but I can't. Damn you, goddamn you for making everythin' so damned hard."

Bobby tilts his head and kisses him roughly, his hands sliding up and plunging into the mess of hair. He curls his fingers and tugs on the strands. Jack moans into the kiss, melting against the possessive touch. Bobby knows every sweet spot on his body. There are some things he'll never forget.

Jack whispers his name against his mouth, his lips and tongue no match for Bobby's need to control him. He leans against him; leans into the strength Bobby has and lets him guide the kiss. His skin is on fire, he's burning from the inside out and it's like Bobby never left him in the first place.

In a moment, Bobby has Jack on the bed, and he's kissing him like he can't stop. Jack tugs him closer, roughened fingers holding him tight. Bobby drags his lips along Jack's neck, tasting sweat, tasting the tears that rolled down, the faintest hint of cologne on his skin.

Jack shoves at him, his heart pounding. They part, eyeing each other, chests hitching. Bobby snorts under his breath and looks away. Even when rumpled, Jack is undeniably aroused, and it takes every bit of his strength not to turn the boy over and fuck him into the next week.

"Why bother writing if you didn't think I'd come?" Bobby tugs at his t-shirt, sweat dampening the fabric.

Jack glares halfheartedly at him. "I didn't even think you'd bother readin' it."

"You wanted a reaction, you got one," Bobby presses down on him again, his knee pushing Jack's thighs apart. "Don't start what you can't finish, baby."

Jack hisses at him and shoves upward. He's hard in his carefully distressed jeans, and Bobby inhales with a gasp. His stomach lurches and he presses down harder, rutting against him for a moment. Jack bites at his lips, a moan escaping him. He grabs a fistful of Bobby's hair, knocking it out of his usual slicked back style and tugs him down.

"You can't lie to yourself forever, Bobby," he whispers, kissing him again.

Bobby pants, his lips sliding over Jack's. The room is hotter than before and he's sweating, his skin prickling under Jack's demanding kisses. He tries to protest, to be the stronger one and avoid doing this, he'd sworn that he'd never do this again.

Jack's tongue meets his, demanding more. The kiss deepens and Bobby moans now. He's tasted before, tasted what he never should have and now he can never truly leave. Jack calls him back, tempting him every time. Bobby rubs against him slowly, dragging this out.

Jack whispers to him, those long fingers of his scrambling and tugging at the zipper of his jeans. Bobby closes his eyes and gives in once more. Through the haze of hot lust and desire, he strips them both, the kisses harder now, any protests silenced by the feel of Jack's smooth skin under his calloused hands.

Bobby pins Jack to the bed, one hand wrapped around the length of his cock, the pad of his thumb smearing the droplets that leak. He rests his head to Jack's neck, kissing and nipping and remembering how Jack likes it, how he loves to be taken less than gently when he's upset. He whispers back, filthy words and phrases and promises.

Jack shudders, his eyes tightly shut, his back arching up into the almost too rough touch on his cock. He digs his fingernails into Bobby's back, demanding more. And Bobby does as he asks, flips him over and buries himself inside with a minimum of stretching. Jack whimpers and begs for more, his hands scrabbling to grip the bed sheets.

Bobby takes him as roughly as he dares. With his eyes half open, his stomach clenches hard and he thinks fleetingly that brothers were never meant to be like this. Deep inside Jack, the wet heat holding him in place, he sniffs, and a tear drips down his cheek.

He leaves because he has to, even though it kills him. He can't be what Jack wants, can't be what he needs, even if deep down he needs it as badly. Bobby angles his thrusts and demands that Jack touch himself.

Jack complies with a sob, his hand sliding up and down the slicked length of his cock He shudders, jerking forward on his knees, the hot flow of liquid dripping down his fingers. Bobby moans his name as Jack's muscles milk him. And god, he comes with a rush. For one moment, he's not Jack's overprotective, older foster brother, he's Jack's possessive lover.

And after, Jack smokes another cigarette, his long limbs entwined around Bobby, keeping him close. Bobby takes drags off the cigarette, the smoke burning his lungs and eyes. He says nothing and the kisses they share now are slow, relaxed and gentle.

When he hears the whispered pleas from Jack, old instinct rises up. He starts to say no, but in an instant, he sees nothing but loneliness and heartache if he walks out now. Bobby hesitates, the weight of the moment, of the choice, it's daunting. He looks to Jack and nods just once.

Jack smiles and his whole face is lit up with a happiness that Bobby can hardly bear. He closes his eyes, listening to Jack's excited words. He kisses him and holds on. He's walked too many times and it never brought him even a fraction of the love that Jack gives him so freely. He drifts off to sleep some time later and it's with a tiny thought, he thinks that he's come full circle, found Jack, left, and come back for the last time, that he's reached completion.

And he smiles. He has his Jack, that's all that matters.

XX

The song Jack sings is 'Outside' by Staind.


End file.
